


Monster

by Garonne



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-DOFP, Telepathy, with a happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Across the TV screen is written "Revolution in Genosha -- government overthrown". "It's Magneto," Hank says before Charles can speak.</i>
</p><p>Five years post-DOFP, Charles reaches out to Erik again. The problem is, Erik has decided that when Charles called him a monster, he was right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frau_kali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frau_kali/gifts).



> Thanks for a great prompt, Frau Kali! Hope you enjoy this. I'm sorry I didn't deliver on the smut, though (at least, not in the traditional sense!) 
> 
> Many thanks to Lefaym for being a wonderful beta-reader.

.. .. ..

_Westchester, 1978_

When the news comes through, Charles is in the library, helping Ororo choose a book for her lesson. He's brought his chair up close to the shelf where they keep the children's books, and Ororo is sitting in his lap, hesitating between Dr. Seuss and _Where the Wild Things Are_. Out of the blue, he hears Hank call out to him.

_Charles, get in here!_

He's in the TV room. The urgency in his thoughts is such that Charles grabs both of Ororo's books, and accelerates out of the library and down the corridor, as fast as he can.

Hank and Alex are standing in front of the television set, riveted by the screen. It's a news flash, the newsreader standing in front of a map of the Indian Ocean. Across the bottom of the screen is written "Revolution in Genosha -- government overthrown".

"Magneto," Hank says before Charles can speak.

Charles' chest constricts. It always throws him when he hears that name unexpectedly; this time the context amplifies that effect a thousandfold. After a second of shock, he tunes in to what the newsreader is saying.

"...island nation... prosperous economy... built on the backs of mutant slaves... revolution... the mutant leader known as Magneto has assumed control..."

They're showing newsreel now, images of burning buildings beneath equatorial blue skies.

"Genosha?" Betsy asks. Charles hadn't even noticed her coming into the room.

"Off the south-east coast of Africa," Hank says.

Charles is hardly paying attention to them. The images on screen have changed. Now it's a still shot of Erik -- of Magneto -- snapped coming down a flight of steps outside some sort of government building, surrounded by his followers. It's a grainy image, shot from a distance, and blurred because Erik is in motion. He's wearing the helmet, and Charles can't make out anything of his expression.

It's the first time Charles has seen him in five years.

In the distance, he can hear the telephone in his study start to ring.

"I'll get it," Hank says, hurrying out.

"What's happening?" Ororo asks plaintively. She's still sitting in Charles' lap.

Charles doesn't even know how to begin to explain, but before he can try, Hank reappears.

"It's the New York Times on the phone."

Charles can't deal with that just now. He isn't quite ready to play the respected and respectable voice of the mutant community. He shakes his head, and Hank nods, and disappears to go hang up the phone. Half a minute later, it starts to ring again.

.. .. ..

That evening, Charles sits at his desk, surrounded by the evening's newspapers. They all hold almost the same information: a few sketchy, speculative details about the current situation in Genosha, a lot more background on the island and the overthrown regime, and what little is known about Magneto -- mostly rumors of his links to the Kennedy assassination, and the Sentinels debacle at the White House ten years later. As filler, they've used quotes from various so-called experts on mutant affairs. Not from Charles, though, no matter how many journalists have called the house today. His and Magneto's former association isn't general public knowledge, not even among journalists, but they're all eager to get a quote from eminent mutant pedagogue and geneticist Professor Charles Xavier. He isn't willing to voice an opinion, though -- not when he's not even sure what his opinion is yet.

He looks down at the newspapers again. It's the photos he wanted them for, though most of what the journalists have found is years out of date, from the Sentinels' unveiling. There's only one new one, the same grainy image Charles saw on TV this morning. It's printed quite small to disguise the poor quality, and Magneto's face is only a shadow between the two hard lines of his helmet.

Charles pours over the picture, examining first Magneto, then the small group of people round him. Charles can't tell whether Raven's in the image or not. She could be anyone.

The last time he saw either of them was five years ago, on the White House lawn. He's followed Erik's activities over the years since then, of course. Charles has contacts, and enough influence now to have discreet access to all the information he wants. He knows all about the liberation raids on secret mutant experimentation labs in those countries with the outward trappings of civilization, and on mutant internment camps elsewhere. He would cheer for Erik, if it weren't for the numerous human casualties every raid seems to cause.

He reads the reports, and thinks, this is the man who used to fall asleep in my arms. This is the man I could share everything with. This is the man I thought I'd have forever.

He's never tried to contact Erik, not once since he let Erik escape, that day on the White House lawn. He's not angry with him any more, not the way he was in those bitter years when Erik was in prison, but neither is he keen to let Erik open up old wounds, or to return the favor. It seems pointless to torture each other when the gulf between them has grown so large.

In any case, from a practical point of view, it wouldn't have been easy to contact Erik. He always heard about Erik's doings after the fact, once Erik had already moved on. Now, for the first time in five years, he knows precisely where Erik is, right now. He's in the government buildings in Hammer Bay, Genosha. 

Because of that bloody new helmet Erik has had made, he can't simply reach out to him, but he could contact him in the regular way now -- a letter, or a telephone call. It's a fantasy he's sometimes entertained over the past five years, if he's completely honest with himself. Now that it seems almost possible, he hardly dares think about it any more.

By the end of the week, it becomes apparent that Magneto's revolution has succeeded, at least for the moment. Hank's contacts at the UN say Magneto's demands for official recognition will be a reality within days.

Some of the students are excited, eagerly discussing the idea of a homeland for mutants. The teachers are more cautious. They know what Magneto's proven himself capable of, and they wouldn't be here at the school if they didn't agree with Charles' ideas on peaceful coexistence. Charles himself doesn't know quite what he thinks. He knows what kind of leader Erik is, but not what kind of ruler Erik will make.

Hank and Alex are the only ones who knew Erik from before, the only ones who have some idea of how close he and Erik were. They don't bring the subject up with him, though, and for that he's grateful.

When the UN resolution on Genosha is passed, Charles drafts a short, fairly neutral message of congratulations, expressing his hopes for a peaceful, prosperous future for all of Genosha's citizens, mutant and human alike. He knows that it's quite likely to be leaked and printed in the newspapers, and that's already a good reason to guard his words. But in fact, the main reason he takes that neutral, noncommittal tone is that he doesn't know how else to address Erik these days.

He sends the message without any real expectation of an answer. Perhaps at most a formal message of thanks, the same sent to every other well-wisher.

But two days later, he picks up the phone in his study, thinking the call must be the one he's waiting for, from the parents of a potential new student. Instead, a familiar voice says, "Charles Xavier, please."

Charles' heart stutters.

"Erik?"

There's a pause, and then Erik says, "Yes." His voice is faint and somewhat scratchy over the long-distance line.

Charles' heart is racing now. He doesn't know whether to smile or scream. Part of him wants to start yelling at Erik right away, for so many complicated reasons. But that would be very much the wrong thing to do right now, in the heat of the moment.

He swallows.

"You got my message, then."

"Yes."

That leads to another pause. Erik is the first to break it.

"Are you wishing you could punch me in the face again?" 

His voice is flat and cool. Charles can't tell whether that was supposed to be a joke, some sort of peace overture, or whether Erik just meant it literally.

"No! Yes. Sort of." He takes a deep breath. "There are so many things I want to say to you I don't even know where to start."

"Well, don't say them now."

Charles is taken aback.

"Um... all right."

"Open telephone line," Erik adds, and now Charles gets it. It's not something he ever worries about when he's on the phone, but he supposes it's different when you're an internationally wanted criminal in the middle of a coup d'etat.

"Ah," he says. "Yes."

That's cut the conversation dead, of course, damn it. Charles could almost scream in frustration.

"There is another way we could talk," Erik says, and there's the strangest note in his voice. "From what I hear, Genosha is well within your range."

Charles knows what he means, of course, but at first he thinks he must surely have misunderstood. Erik can't possibly be suggesting this, and in any case there's one obvious obstacle.

"It is... but I can't reach you. Not when you're wearing that -- thing."

"I have enemies," Erik says, and Charles can almost see him scowl. "But -- if I were to take it off, if you were in my head... could you protect me?"

Charles can hardly believe he's hearing what he thinks he is.

I thought the helmet was to keep _me_ out, he almost says, and part of him knows that, partially at least, it was and is.

But right now, Erik is being quite clear.

"Yes, I can," Charles says. "But will you -- would you actually -- ?"

"Why do you think I suggested it?" Erik says dryly.

Suddenly, Charles realizes what that strange note in Erik's voice is. Erik sounds as desperate to see Charles as Charles is to see him.

"Now?" Charles asks. He feels almost lightheaded with anticipation.

"Yes, now."

"Give me ten minutes. I'm going to go down to Cerebro."

Charles is running on adrenaline now. He has no idea what he's doing or whether it's a good idea. He only knows that he doesn't want to stop and think. He suspects that Erik's operating under similar conditions.

And ten minutes later, Charles is sifting through the minds in Genosha's Hammer Bay. They're excited, scared, apprehensive -- all the expected reactions to an unsettled, uncertain political situation. But right now he's only concentrating on one thing. He's searching eagerly, and finally a familiar mind snaps into being, drawing his attention immediately.

"Erik?" he thinks, and then there are no more words, just the sensation of Erik's mind in his.

It's been so long and yet it feels so familiar it could have been yesterday when their minds last touched.

Charles is enfolded in Erik's thoughts. He burrows himself deeper, indulging in something he thought he'd never experience again. They don't speak, or even really consciously think. They just float together in warm, comfortable currents, following old familiar patterns, so close it's hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. It's a feeling of pure joy, and for now it's easy to ignore the dark, ominous clouds gathering just out of sight.

It's tempting just to stay like that as long as possible, but Charles knows they can't. They're here to talk, and by mutual consent they draw apart, separating until they're two minds again, still in contact but now distinct, individual entities.

Charles wants to see Erik, at least on this level, and he wants to talk face-to-face, and so he creates a place in the space between their minds for them to meet.

They're in a room with oak panels lining two walls, and bookshelves the other two. There's a fire burning in the grate, the curtains are drawn, and the room is warm and intimate. He wanted something neutral, unrelated to their time together in Washington, Westchester or anywhere else; this room is a memory from his years at Oxford. 

He's drawn Erik's appearance from Erik's own mind. Erik is dressed very simply, in black, and he looks tired, like this past week has taken a particularly heavy toll.

Charles hasn't included his wheelchair, but he's sitting in one of the two armchairs. Erik doesn't take the other. He stands behind it, looking down at Charles. His expression is shuttered.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

His voice isn't aggressive, it's quite neutral, and so are his thoughts, but Charles finds himself reacting badly all the same.

"That would have been difficult, since I didn't even know where you were." His tone comes out much sharper than he intended, and the thoughts he's projecting are just as bad. "You've known where I was all along, by the way."

Erik draws himself up and opens his mouth, but to Charles' surprise he closes it again without saying anything.

Everything is going wrong already. Charles wants desperately to go back in time, even by just two minutes.

"I don't want to start off like this," he bursts out.

Something in Erik's rigid posture gives way, just a little bit. He comes round the armchair, and sits down. His knees are only inches from Charles' now. Charles hadn't noticed until now quite how close he'd placed the two chairs.

Last time they met, during the Trask affair, they could hardly bear to be in the same room as each other. Now, Charles finds he just desperately wants to get this right.

He looks at Erik, emotion welling up in his throat, and threatening to burst out of him. Because they're in Erik's mind just as much as Charles', the room is filled with Erik's emotions too: regret mingling with anticipation, uncertainty about what Charles will say or do, and a fierce determination to follow the path he's chosen. There's no hiding from each other in here.

"I've missed you more than ever, these last few months in Genosha," Erik says suddenly.

Charles feels his chest tighten.

"Oh, Erik," he says softly.

He can feel, in Erik's mind, a sudden impulse to reach out to Charles, to touch his knee, or his arm. But Erik doesn't, and neither does Charles.

"Your school is doing well."

It still hurts to hear 'your' when it could have been 'our', but Charles just nods.

"These last few years I've had more pupils than I've known what to do with." He pauses before he goes on. "You've done a lot too, in recent years. I've been following your... activities."

"Oh?"

Erik is sitting back in his chair now, one leg propped up on the other knee, the picture of relaxation. But Charles can see the tension in his shoulder and in his jaw. He can feel it leaking out across the room. Erik is steeling himself for an argument, an attack on his actions, and of course part of Charles is raring to go. He's spent the past five years criticizing Erik's actions, to himself and to his students and followers. But just now, he can't bring himself to do that, and instead he says,

"And of course this past week, I've been following everything that's been happening on Genosha, as closely as I could."

Erik's jaw tightens further.

"I already know what you'll think of my plans for Genosha, Charles."

Charles can tell Erik sees his feelings for Charles as a weakness. He's afraid he'll let that supposed weakness influence him at the precise moment when he finally seems to be achieving something. Charles can also tell that some small part of Erik suspects that that possibility is the main reason Charles chose to contact him at just this moment.

That isn't true, of course, but now that they are talking, Charles can't seem to help trying it all the same.

"But you'll be able to achieve so many things now, without violence, via official channels. The UN -- "

Erik cuts him off.

"The only reason the UN gave me Genosha is because they're afraid of me."

Charles can't deny the truth in that, but he still feels Erik is missing the point, and he thinks he'll die of frustration.

"Is that how you're going to rule?" he bursts out. "By fear?"

"I know what I am, Charles," Erik says quietly. "I do what I have to."

In Erik's mind, Charles reads 'weapon in the fight for mutant rights', and 'monster', and 'beyond redemption'. And no matter what dark thoughts he may have had about Erik over the past decade and more, now his very core rebels against that.

"Erik, no!" 

"You think the same thing," Erik says, because of course Erik is in Charles' mind right now as much as Charles is in Erik's, and there's only so much Charles can hide from him.

Charles shakes his head violently.

"That's how I feel about what you've done, not about who you are. Can't you see the difference?"

He's leaning forward now, closer to Erik, desperate to get his point across. Erik looks straight back at him.

"I already know how delusional you are about mutant affairs, about the intentions of humankind -- about the simple reality of the world we live in. So if you're also delusional about me and what I am... well, forgive me if I say you have very little chance of convincing me of anything."

That stings. Charles sinks back into his chair.

"I know you, Erik," he says quietly, and then more loudly, "For God's sake, I'm in your head right now."

He can feel Erik's resistance like a palpable barrier against which he can only throw himself.

"I'm not sorry for what I've done," Erik says. "Nor for what I've become. I'm glad. Glad about what it's achieved for mutantkind. My only regret is that it cost me -- " His voice is lower now, but he's still looking directly at Charles, the same fierce, defensive light in his eyes. "Sometimes I think we could have -- could have had something together." 

God, Charles could pick him up and shake him.

"You think? You know we could have! We did -- we do." He hears his voice catch, despite himself. "I love you, don't you see?"

Erik's expression only hardens.

"You can't. Not after everything."

"It doesn't work like that."

He can feel Erik's emotions filling the room: longing, regret, a fierce, hard love. And God it hurts to feel it, because he knows Erik won't acknowledge any of it.

"I love you," Charles says again.

"Don't say that."

Charles is determined to fight this.

"Why not? It's true."

"Because it goes against everything you believe in to love a man who is responsible for countless acts of unnecessary slaughter," and Charles knows that's a phrase Erik has taken directly from Charles' own mind. He remembers using it just a month ago, when talking to Hank about Magneto's latest raid.

He almost flinches at that, but manages to stay firm.

"Years ago, I told you how much good I saw in you. That hasn't changed."

Erik doesn't answer, but he's thinking that he's not sure he ever was the man that Charles thought he knew.

Charles takes a deep breath.

"But now I'm afraid. I can't see the future, but I'm afraid of it. We've already met once in battle as enemies, and next time will be worse. I can't do that, Erik. Sometimes I think I should be willing to do absolutely anything to stop you, and -- " He shakes his head, swallowing bile. "I can't do that, Erik."

"I know," says Erik. "That's why I'm here."

It's unexpected in its simplicity. In the silence that follows, Charles begins to hope. He's not sure whether it's his own hope, or whether he can now feel the hope Erik wasn't allowing himself until this point.

Slowly and carefully, giving Erik every chance to break away, Charles lets the final barriers in his mind down, so that they're completely joined again, as they were when first Erik removed the helmet. But this time they're not just mindlessly floating. This time Charles is actively thinking, about everything he wants Erik to understand. He knows Erik can feel everything he does: his pride in Erik's principles, his horror at Erik's actions, his struggle to reconcile them. His hopes for Genosha, for the sort of society Erik could build there. His belief in Erik, his love.

Erik gasps. They're so close now Charles feels it as a hitch in his own breath.

 _Stop it, Charles,_ Erik thinks.

Charles refuses. He's drowning in Erik's anger and resistance. But Charles can also see what Erik would rather keep hidden: fear of what they'll do to each other as enemies. Hope for what they could build together in Genosha. Worry that Charles will change or dilute his plans. Longing just to touch Charles once more.

That last feeling is the strongest now, and Charles can't help but obey. The oak-paneled room has lost focus, but Charles sharpens it up again, solidifying it into something real. Erik is right in front of him now, his eyes wide and haunted, his mouth set in a thin, pained line.

Charles holds out a hand. Erik takes it, and with a short, sharp jerk, Charles has pulled Erik onto the chair with him. Then they're kissing, and it's been fifteen years, and Charles can hardly believe this is happening. The sensations are built of memories, his and Erik's, and fifteen years' worth of dreams and fantasies. Erik's mind is awash with disbelief and elation, with memories of the softness of Charles' lips, the warmth of his skin under Erik's fingertips, the sound he used to make when Erik would run a hand lightly down the tendons in his neck.

They spend a long time like that, just luxuriating in each other's touch. But this tension had been building in the room since they got here, underneath the harsh words and barbs, and Charles doesn't feel he can wait much longer.

 _Bed,_ he thinks, and Erik immediately draws back, pulling Charles up with him.

 _This way,_ Charles thinks, turning toward the nearest door.

He's walking, because here he can. He opens the door and finds the bedroom he's just constructed. And if the bed very closely resembles the one they shared for six short weeks in Westchester... well, just now he can't seem to help it, and Erik doesn't seem to mind. They're so close now that he isn't even quite sure which parts of this world are from Erik's mind and not his.

Erik is right on his heels, and soon they're tugging each other down onto the bed, and this feels more real than pretty much anything else Charles has done in the last five years.

Erik is on top of him now, holding him down and kissing him just the way that always drove Charles crazy, and Charles is having trouble keeping the room in focus. It's hard to concentrate when this is Erik, filling his mind with impatience and delight, and a sort of disbelieving adoration. Charles lets go of the image of the bedroom, and does something they had only tried once before. He goes straight for Erik's brain. He seeks out the amygdala, and the cerebellum, stroking and teasing the pleasure centers of the brain, until Erik's mind is ablaze, one overwhelming conflagration of arousal. Everything is echoing and reverberating in Charles' own brain. It's more intimate, and more intense, than anything he's felt in a long time. 

He can feel Erik reaching for him in the same way, and he guides Erik along the same paths in his own brain, until they're burning each other up, building up to a peak that sends Charles' mind spiraling in ecstasy until he breaks apart into innumerable tiny, immeasurably happy pieces.

For a long time afterward, Charles is just a diffuse collection of neurons, wrapped around Erik's mind, floating in netherspace. It's a while before his brain vaguely begins to remember that they were supposed to be lying in a bedroom of their minds' creation.

He drags it all back together again and opens his eyes.

Erik is lying beside him, naked now, and he has to thank his subconscious for that. Erik raises an eyebrow at him, a hint of amusement in his eyes and in the quirk of his lips, and God, Charles had thought he would never see that expression again.

Erik pats the bed, his smile broadening.

_I see we're back on terra firma again._

Charles can't help the flush of embarrassment in his mind. 

_I got distracted,_ he thinks.

Erik turns serious.

_It was perfect. You were perfect._

Charles reaches out for him. He wanted this desperately, just to lie together in each other's arms in bed, the way they used to when they thought they'd have it forever. He can feel how much Erik has been wanting it too.

He knows they're ignoring a lot of important and unresolvable problems, but for now, he just wants to lie here and hold Erik.

 _I'm coming to New York next week to address the UN,_ Erik thinks, after a few minutes.

 _I'll come and find you there,_ Charles promises.

Erik is thinking skeptical thoughts, even though it was he who first brought the subject up.

_So that we can argue better in person?_

_So that we can lie in bed together every night you're there._

Erik takes his hand, the gentleness of the gesture and the soft haze of affection in his mind at odds with the skeptical look in his face.

 _All right._ He raises Charles' hand to kiss the palm. _All right, come and find me. I'll be waiting for you._


End file.
